


single file to bliss

by after_hours_ovo



Category: American Satan (2017)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Breathplay, Dirty Talk, F/M, Femdom, Jealousy, Maledom, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Switching, Threesome - F/F/M, canon-typical level of fucked up sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 05:06:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19266451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/after_hours_ovo/pseuds/after_hours_ovo
Summary: “Don’t stop,” Johnny whispers. “Please.”Lily’s hand tightens in his. “You act so dominant on stage,” she croons, her breath hot against his ear. “Don’t you think you’re disappointing your groupies if this is what gets you off?”





	single file to bliss

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in a sort of AU/canon divergence surrounding the Hellfest arc. I could explain exactly what’s going on in this universe because I do have like, worldbuilding thought out, but that’s not why you’re here is it? ;)

Johnny can hear the roar of the crowd from even here, backstage in some dimly lit practice room where his band is supposed to be warming up but has instead fallen into fucking around as usual. Their set isn’t for another few hours; this is a music festival, after all, and The Relentless being the sensation they are, they’ve been scheduled for last, after all the wannabe openers. Months ago, they would have _been_ one of those openers, a fact that still feels like it will give Johnny whiplash if he thinks about it too hard.

No one looks particularly keen on getting some last minute practice in. Vic seems to be taking a power nap, stretched out on the one couch with his feet in Johnny’s lap, and Leo and Dylan are locked in some inane argument involving far too much British slang for Johnny to want to be a part of it. Lily’s MIA at the moment. It gets Johnny thinking—the Devil promised success, but on what terms? Do they even need to work for it, or will it just come regardless? Judging by everyone else’s unwillingness to warm up, it seems like the general consensus is the latter.

Johnny’s not exactly in a position to give any lectures on taking things seriously. He’s lucky they’re here at all—Elias had wanted to cancel their set at the festival as well as the tour he’d already nixed, and had only agreed to keep it after Lily had talked him down. _Johnny needs something to look forward to when he gets out of rehab_ , she’d argued, and Elias had come around.

Johnny _does_ look forward to performing again. At least mentally he does, but the rest of his body is looking forward to something else, practically clawing itself inside out with the need for more heroin. His spiritual monk guide or whatever the fuck that dude called himself said it would get easier to fight as time went on and it has, but Johnny’s never been the patient type and he’s so fucking _done_ with being addicted. He glances down at the purple splotches on his inner elbow, mostly healed but still visible. Now, with empty hours to kill before their set, is when he’s at his weakest, bored and most likely to make a regrettable decision. His legs push up from the couch before he really thinks about why.

“Where you goin, man?” Vic mumbles, half asleep.

“Just stretching my legs a little,” Johnny replies.

He doesn’t realize he’s trying to find Lily until he’s halfway down the hall. He shouldn’t be—the Elias-provided therapist made him identify the things that made him most likely to relapse, and Lily clocked in at number one on the fucking list. He knows this in the back of his mind but he keeps walking anyway.

A girl finds him first, her dark hair pulled back into a messy ponytail and her shirt identifying her as a member of the stage crew. Johnny’s about to keep walking, but she steps in front of his path, deliberate. He looks up.

“Look, if you wanna give us shit about not warming up take it up with the rest of the band,” he says, gesturing vaguely back the way he came.

“That’s not what I want,” the girl says, voice like honey, and suddenly Johnny knows exactly where this is going.

“I bet this happens to you pretty regularly, huh?” She asks, like she can read his mind. She’s definitely in his personal space now. “Girls throwing themselves at you, begging you to fuck them?”

He nods, more tired of it than he ever thought a red-blooded man in his early twenties could be.

“You have everything you could ever want right in front of you,” she says, leaving it to Johnny to decide if she means right now or in general. “Except for one thing.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow. He’ll bite. “And that is?”

“Control.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Free will. Whatever you wanna call it.” She holds open her bag, and instead of the roadie gear he’d expected, there’s a long coil of red rope. “I want you to use this. On me. You can do whatever you want to me. Leave whenever you want, too. Nothing forcing your hand...”

She leans in, and Johnny swallows once.

“...except for your deepest desires.”

Johnny sighs, feigns indecision, but he knows what he’ll choose. He’s predictable, he’ll give himself that much. “I’m game,” he says, and she smiles.

—

She leads Johnny to some kind of storage room, with boxes lining the walls and assorted musical equipment shoved into a haphazard pile. It’s dark, but a tiny window from the back lets in enough light as they stumble through.

“What’s your name?” Johnny asks, because it suddenly seems important.

“Ada,” the girl answers. “What’s yours?”

He almost tells her before he realizes she’s joking.

—

Johnny never planned for this to be his life. The fame, sure, when he dared to dream big, but never the drugs, never the meaningless sex. He thinks his problem is he’s never been very good at saying no—not to the devil, not to Lily, and not even to the endless stream of groupies who want something he isn’t sure he has any left of to give. He takes the rope she hands him anyway, because why the hell not? He needs a distraction, anything to get him to stop thinking about shooting up again. Maybe BDSM with random roadies wasn’t exactly what his therapist had in mind when he talked about _alternatives_ , but a distraction’s a distraction.

—

“I don’t know how to do this,” Johnny admits.

“You’re a Satanist,” Ada says, incredulous. “Isn’t this, like, what you _do_?”

Johnny lets out a humorless chuckle. “I’m not a Satanist.” At her look of disbelief, he elaborates. “I’ve met the devil. There’s nothing about that guy I’d ever want to worship.”

This response seems to throw her off for just a moment before her game face slides back into place.

“Look, can’t you just do it yourself?” Johnny asks, holding out the rope.

Ada snorts. “Kind of hard to tie yourself up, you know.” Her eyes glint. “Come here, I’ll show you how.”

She takes the rope from him. “Hold your hands out,” she says, and Johnny complies a little too readily. He’s getting that twitchy, antsy feeling again, and getting tied up sounds like fucking bliss right now.

Ada binds his hands in front of him, explaining each loop as she does it. Johnny does his best to follow along but really, he misses the day when all he needed to do to please a fan was lie there and get high and let her get off on his cock, maybe snap his hips up a few times if she was really needy. This, right here, is way too complicated.

Ada finishes the knot and yanks on the dangling end, bringing Johnny stumbling forward. It shoots arousal through his body, and he makes a noise in the back of his throat without meaning to. He’d known he could summon enough physiological desire to get hard, he always can in these situations, but he didn’t expect to be actually _turned on._

“You _like_ me doing this?” Ada asks, skeptical, and Johnny doesn’t know himself well enough to answer. It’s not like he’s ever tried it either way.

He leans forward for a kiss, and Ada must decide that’s answer enough, because she tugs him down to the floor and makes him lie back. She undresses, and Johnny realizes with a start there was no security here to check her for cameras, nothing to stop her from filming this and sending it to the first tabloid that will print it. The ropes suddenly feel too tight around his wrists.

But Ada seems to have no interest in that. She straddles him, and from the way she’s sitting she must feel the outline of his cock, hard already, but she doesn’t comment, just rucks his shirt up and gets to work removing his studded belt.

She yanks his jeans down and produces a condom from her pocket, yet another thing Johnny should have thought about before agreeing to this...whatever this is. He wonders if Ada even locked the door behind them.

“You can’t tell anyone we’re doing this,” he says, words hollow even to his own ears. Ada laughs and rolls the condom down over his cock. “Of course not. Who’d even believe me? ‘Oh, I had Johnny Faust at my mercy last night. Why, how was yours?’ It doesn’t sound _real_.”

She lowers herself onto Johnny’s cock in one smooth motion, and his eyes flutter shut. He’s trembling, he can tell, but she says nothing of it, just leans in to place a hand at his throat. She doesn’t squeeze, but she can surely feel it when Johnny swallows hard. His thoughts are cloudy, nothing compared to the physical reality of the ropes binding his wrists and of Ada, slowly fucking herself on his shaft, so he stops thinking and just lets himself enjoy it. It’s becoming harder and harder to remember why it was a bad idea. Ada drags her nails down his chest, leaving red lines over the tattoos that already mark his flesh. He exhales and cants his hips up without thinking, wanting more, and Ada gives it to him, slamming herself so roughly up and down Johnny wonders if he’ll break. Her thighs are shaking and there’s a wild look in her eyes, drunk on power. Johnny can’t help but think of Lily when she looks at him like that. Of the first time they fucked.  He was in the same position he is now, he realizes, minus the ropes. His hands clench helplessly, muscles straining. The knots hold.

There’s a sound like a mic stand falling over and then Johnny has to close his eyes for a second as the light switch is thrown. When he opens them, squinting at first, Lily’s standing over him, looking for all the world like an apparition he summoned just by thinking about her. Her dark, smokey eyes are inscrutable.

“Hey darling,” Johnny says.

Ada, to her credit, doesn’t stop, just turns a half-lidded gaze on Lily and applies just the slightest bit of pressure to Johnny’s neck, as if daring her to say something about it. Johnny can’t help it—there’s something fucked up about him, maybe, his wires got crossed somewhere, but it’s so good and he lets out the tiniest sound. Lily’s eyes go wide as if that was some kind of confirmation.

“Hey yourself, Johnny,” she says, and leans down to kiss him. It’s rougher than usual, her lips hot and insistent on his. She bites his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, and Johnny arches up into it, neck straining to follow her as she pulls away.

“I’m surprised he let you do this,” Lily comments. It sounds casual, but under that there’s a current of—of jealousy, Johnny realizes. He thinks he likes it. Lily’s lips are painted red with his blood, and he’s never seen anything that gets him going quite that fast.

“Get him in the right mood, and he'll let you do _anything_ ,” Ada responds. She trails a single finger down his chest. Johnny’s abs flex and jump under the touch, mostly involuntary, but he plays it up a little, puts on a show.

Lily sits back and reaches for Johnny’s captive hands, linking her fingers with his. “Well, don’t stop on my account.”

“He has such a pretty voice, I want to hear him beg for it,” Ada says, but she’s still moving, slowly grinding against him. It’s clear she wants this just as much as he does—maybe more. The words fall from Johnny’s mouth anyway.

“Don’t stop,” he whispers. “Please.”

Lily’s hand tightens in his. “You act so dominant on stage,” she croons, her breath hot against his ear. “Don’t you think you’re disappointing your groupies if this is what gets you off?”

Ada laughs, no humor in it. “I have to say I’m a _little_ disappointed. He couldn’t take control to save. his. goddamn. life.” She punctuates each word with a hard bounce on Johnny’s cock, letting gravity do the work as she takes him to the hilt each time.

Lily leans over and kisses Ada, no softness whatsoever, before shoving her off of Johnny. She unties his wrists, quick enough that Johnny realizes she must have some previous experience with it. He wonders what kinds of things, exactly, men paid for in that club of hers.

“Come on,” Lily goads, her voice low and dangerous. “I know you have it in you. Don’t you want to know what it’s like to _take_?” Johnny rubs his wrists and props himself up on his elbows.

Ada stands over him, eyebrow cocked in a dare and mouth curved up. She looks like she’s ready to call Lily’s bluff about the whole thing.

“Give her what she wants,” Lily orders.

Johnny wouldn’t do something like this to satisfy a random groupie, but to satisfy _Lily_ , who’s clearly taking pleasure in watching—

He pushes to his feet and wraps a hand around her throat. It’s easy enough to slip into his stage persona, the cocky, confident man that’s everything Johnny isn’t. He’s tall, and he towers over her, looking down in amusement as the first flicker of fear crosses Ada’s eyes. She whimpers, and he smiles.

Johnny turns her around roughly and shoves her against one of the boxes lining the wall. Something inside rattles, but Johnny can’t bring himself to give a single fuck about whatever musical equipment he might be damaging right now. When he bends her over with a hand on her back he sees the red marks the rope has left on his skin, harsh against his pale wrist. Lily’s standing in front of him, watching with her eyes blown wide and mouth slightly open. Johnny holds eye contact with her as he lines himself up against Ada’s entrance, breathing heavily. Ada’s dripping, he can feel it, and she tries to squirm backwards, but Johnny keeps her still with a tight grip on her hips. He raises an eyebrow, a silent question.

Lily nods. “Go ahead. Fuck her _hard_ ,” she says, and Johnny snaps his hips forward, eliciting a choked moan from Ada. He shoves her down onto the box’s surface and holds her there, hand pressed against her cheek, and sets a relentless pace, thrusts deep. He can see the appeal of having someone at his mercy, of tightening his hand in Ada’s hair just to hear her gasp out his name, but mainly, he likes watching what he’s doing to Lily. He stares her down with that same dark, twisted smile he uses on stage. He knows what effect it has on people, if the screaming fans can be any indication, and Lily doesn’t appear to be particularly immune to it. Her cheeks flush and her hand drifts downward, sliding under her jeans as she watches.

“Faster,” Lily says.

Hair falls in Johnny’s face as he moves, and he’s sweating, beads of it rolling down his body. Ada is a mess under him, moaning and writhing on his cock. Her voice hitches a little every time Johnny thrusts, and god _damn_ if that doesn’t do it for him. She slides an arm between her legs, but Johnny catches her in the motion and twists it behind her back.

“I don’t want you feeling anything besides me,” he growls, and he’ll remember the little sound Lily makes at that for a long time. He moves his other hand down to finger Ada’s clit in the rhythm of his thrusts.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Lily asks. She crouches down to kiss Ada again, and Ada whimpers. Johnny stops moving, panting above her as she whines at the loss.

“Answer her fucking question,” he says, voice flat. Lily lets Ada go and steps back as she catches her breath. She looks impressed.

“It’s—it’s fucking ecstasy,” Ada says. “Just please— _Johnny_ —”

Johnny slams back into her, and doesn’t stop this time.

“It’s pathetic really, how you misunderstand our music,” Lily says.  She holds Ada’s chin, forcing her eyes forward. “ _American Satan_ is about freedom, and yet. All you want from us is this. Domination. Control.”

Johnny grunts and slumps forward, his body covering Ada’s, chest heaving in exertion. He’s never felt more _out_ of control, especially not with Lily looking at him like that. He moves his hand to Ada’s throat and presses down. In the back of his mind he’s thinking maybe it’s too much, but Ada just moans, and Lily looks practically delirious. The veins in his arm stand out with the strain of it.

“You look so fucking good like that,” Lily whispers, and that’s all it takes for Johnny to come. He bites down on Ada’s shoulder as he does, leaving marks when he pulls away.

“Goddamn,” he says quietly. Let Ada believe it was for her.

His legs are shaky, and he sits down on the box to get the condom off and pull his pants back up, breathing ragged. Ada gets up, searching for the clothes she lost somewhere on the floor. She redresses, runs a hand through her hair, and shoots Johnny a smirk.

“Didn’t know you needed your bassist to tell you how to fuck a girl, Johnny Faust.” She’s breathing hard, but her voice is surprisingly steady. Or maybe that’s normal, and Johnny’s the weird one for feeling like he could fall apart at any moment. Her makeup is running a little, but that’s the only visible indication of how thoroughly she was ruined. Johnny opens his mouth to say something before he’s figured out what to say, and Lily takes the opportunity to slide her fingers in past his lips. They’re coated in her juices, and Johnny licks them clean without thinking.

“Don’t have _too_ much fun without me. Your show starts in an hour and I _did_ pay to see the band,” Ada says, and lets the door to the storage room swing shut behind her. There’s a beat of silence.

“We should probably warm up,” Johnny concedes, and Ada might not have sounded totally wrecked, but _he_ does. Lily tilts his chin up, and oh God, he’s so far gone. She presses a chaste kiss to his lips, and somehow even that feels obscene, because it’s _her_.

“You’re right,” she murmurs, and Johnny has never once in his life wished so hard he was wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> There’s not enough content in this fandom, goddamnit. If the release of Paradise City doesn’t help with that I’m gonna be fuckin disappointed. Anyway—comments mean the world to me! I hope you had as much fun reading this pile of filth as I had writing it <3


End file.
